


The Art of Mimicry

by Sewer_rat0



Category: Chrno Crusade
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sewer_rat0/pseuds/Sewer_rat0
Summary: Pandemonium's hierarchy resembles that of bees, though perhaps a bit more elaborate. Genai is a reluctant drone, a station meant to provide the queen with breeders, but he schemes to escape and join the ranks of soldiers. Within the soldiers ranks, he meets a group of enigmatic demons willing to disguise him as one of their own. Minor Au pre rebellion, minor a/b/o themes
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Foreword

Bees have a cruelly drastic hierarchy. Of the females, one larvae receives a special jelly, called royal jelly to raise a new queen bee. When she hatches, she shall fight the current queen to the death in hopes of usurping her.

The other females are fed workers jelly, bringing them up to complete about every other task in the hive other than bearing the larvae. From sustaining the hive's temperature to construction and defense from outside evils, the worker bees are tools of the hive up until their death.

Perhaps the most tragic of this system is the fate of the male bees, the drones. They have no purpose to their souls other than to mate. Pheromones from the queen bee insures that all other females of the hive will be infertile, leaving the male bees at her mercy. Before the winter, the queen will take a virgin flight, only once in her lifetime, to mate with the drones, a process which kills each of her successful suitors. Those who she doesn't mate are ostracized from the hive anyway, now seen as useless. Cut off from their home and lacking the resources to provide for themselves, the drones will either freeze or starve to death. For them, there is no place in this archaic structure. They are an expendable resource, nothing but sperm banks.

\- Chapter one

There is an odd coldness in Genai's room. One of many identical repeating white cells of bedrooms repeating one after the other, each door dark like forgotten cavities in rotten teeth. The pattern is endless, timelessly, a never-ending present. It will not change, it never has. Only the faces, their names are never learned. It is impolite- improper to ask ones senior his title. They disappear without a sound to remember them by, vacating purgatory almost as soon as they arrive. In the day, there is short bustle as the matured leave to attend their queen, the young hatchlings, such as Genai, are left to themselves, left to learn their future roles, their place within Pandemonium's gracious system.

"You are lucky", his mentors announce to boys every morning, "You are fertile! You are useful! Your queen protects you!"

They lie.

Genai reminds himself of this lie, remembering the image of the young soldiers- future pursuers- beginning their warm ups outside the facility, barely visible from his window. They are lucky. He will live his life at the mercy of Pandemonium, fighting for her fertile flesh with the other boys. He will not be himself, he is warned, the queen will alter him to her purposes. He is no one in the grand scheme, only a body.

The soldiers, infertile, but able bodied, are allowed to live for themselves. Male or female, it makes no difference. They exchange their names and titles with casualty, they form bonds and cliques. They will spend their adolescence developing their bodies into weapons. Once they mature, they will choose their way, be tuned and afforded the chance to move through the hierarchy, maybe even, the chance to leave.

The artificial night has slowly begun to lighten, a solid bar of grey creeping across the floor, slowly melting into gold. Within his unit, Genai relishes the last few seconds of solace. Once the light turns white, his day will be filled only with the background drone of his mentors voices and envious observation of the soldiers through a glass pane.


	2. Bloody Teeth

Culture

While Pandemonium's most basic roles can be paralleled to bees, the culture within those levels is far more complex than just bees alone. The nature of a demon is aggressive, selfish. Bees work towards a common goal, the idea of a whole life lived out in the idea of furthering the hives success. They do not hoard resources to themselves, or fight for their own territory. They are, at heart, colony creatures. The same can not be said of Pandemonium's children. Every demon is born with the goal of their own survival, any other body is an afterthought. Without the culture cultivating the idea of group success, nature will ensure that only the most worthy will survive to wrest the world from the hands of the weak and ill. 

Pandemonium as a core survives only for her children. She acts as the necessary component, keeping her children from killing each other off while simultaneously killing off whatever offspring pose a threat to her reign. Workers believe that their own class is superior to all others, whether it be the soldiers, the technicians, or matrons, they can not see how their survival is dependent on each other's talents.

In this respect, Drones will live their lives dedicated to Pandemonium's flesh. All other drones pose a threat to their success. Nature gives them an unmatched aggression, culture gives them shame for their nature. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Two: Bloody Teeth

There is something in Genai's chest, a great burning clawing at his ribs with nails of fire, writhing through his stomach. Time is slow, and he is so dumbly amused. Another boy is atop him, sharp teeth buried in his throat and his chest burns. Of his throat, he feels nothing, the vague tingling of legion attempting to knit his skin back together around the nameless boy's teeth. The nameless is growling at something, him he supposes, blood smeared from his mouth over his cheek like war paint. How it got there, Genai is unsure.

He is unsure of a lot, why the nameless is attacking him, how they ended up on the floor, why no one has separated them yet. Secretly, Genai is happy he is here. The endlessness of the white tiles are ruined by dark smears, hot and sticky red drying brown. The blood marks how real this is. He is here, he is alive. 

The nameless's teeth are yanked unceremoniously from his esophagus, tearing skin back from muscle. A fresh wave of warmth is washing over Genai's chest. For a second, it is like the fire has consumed his chest, burned through the ceiling of his ribs. It is only the lack of smoke that he realizes the warmth comes from the blood.

He grits his teeth, baring his own fangs at the soldier summoned to separate them, a striking demoness, familiar. She is probably on her rotation as a matron, sent from her practice field to teach the drones and keep them social. How convenient. 

The nameless struggles in her grasp, spitting insults in a low, fanatic growl, but she shows no sign of any distress. To her, this nameless might as well be a bug. It only takes one slender hand to cuff the nameless's arms, the muscles in her arms rippling as she guides him roughly to the ground beside Genai, a knee pinning the other boy down between his shoulder blades.

Genai cannot move. He is free, his attacker is no more and his legion has long since taken care of his wounds, but this beautiful creature before him turns his legs to stone. The demoness spares him a glance, violet eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Return to your room, I will deal with him."

Something about her voice compels him to listen, but he doesn't want to leave. Here she is, everything he wishes to be. Strong, graceful, powerful, free. To look at her is a new sort of torture, one that he cannot get enough of. He reluctantly peels himself from the floor, his lips still drawn back in a snarl, giving her a warning growl of his own , but he listens.

Alone in his room, he stares once more out the window. This time, he pictures the demoness on the field, sparring her companions. How does she fight when presented an actual challenge? Is she always so powerful? Does she leave her crimson hair down, or tie it back? Does she feel the fire when she fights?

He is envious, the redheaded soldier will haunt him, he is sure. He must talk to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to beta, hit me up.


End file.
